


when you're lonely

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Butt Plugs, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Kneeling, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:33:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21514753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Anonymous asked: would you please talk about bottom harry riding louis while louis pretends to be indifferent...
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 178





	when you're lonely

**Author's Note:**

> due to popular demand—originally posted a while ago :-)  


At some point, Harry had begun to move.

Normally, this wasn’t an issue—the opposite, in fact—but his knees were aching, despite the pillow Louis had slid underneath them. He couldn’t stop fidgeting: twisting his fingers back and forth where they were clamped around his wrist, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them again, making quiet, displeased noises every so often that he knew Louis could hear, but was doing absolutely nothing about.

In fact, Louis was paying him no mind at all. Louder, Harry grunted again, flexing his shoulders, knowing Louis liked seeing that, the way his shoulder blades winged out, the play of his muscles under skin, but he didn’t even hear Louis take a breath. Harry was here, on his knees, obedient, good, but Louis probably wasn’t even looking at him.

Something about being ignored when he was so desperate—really, really desperate, wet with pre-come and flushed at the tip, his hole flexing around the plug wedged inside—only served to arouse Harry even further.

But that was the whole point.

Kneeling was one of Harry’s favorite things, and something he found he often needed; it was like meditating, almost, with the added benefit of being praised and guided into that soft-edged headspace by his favorite person. There were times when Louis was kind about it, murmuring to Harry as he guided his forehead to his thigh by the nape and stroked through his hair until Harry was boneless at his feet. And then there were times like today.

Louis wasn’t always mean. Actually, very rarely was he anything but sweet, loving; a fondly exasperated chastise or a spanking so Harry would remember to do better next time. But today he’d thrown a pillow to the ground in front of an already-naked Harry and said, as if Harry were a pet or simply not worthy of a thought-out command: “Down.”

So down Harry went, with a half-mumbled, “Yes, Sir,” and a privately delighted smile upturning a corner of his mouth.

He wasn’t smiling anymore. Louis wasn’t always mean, but Harry almost always found a way to test his limits. There was a certain power in turning Louis’s tenderness on its head—right now, at least, Louis was Sir, so half of Harry’s job was already done. That left only one thing: making a spectacle of himself until Louis had no choice but to give him what he wanted or put him in his place. Today was not a kind day, and Harry just couldn’t sit still. Or kneel.

Harry blew out a quick breath, lifting his gaze from where it’d been fixed on his own splayed thighs. Louis had explicitly told him to be good boy, keep his head down. Look pretty. He wasn’t meant to be anything but easy on the eyes. Imagining that Louis was staring at the deep curve of his spine or the soft swell of his ass or that he was thinking about all the ways he would lay his claim had been the only thing keeping Harry from disobeying since they’d started playing.

But when he craned around to give Louis a beseeching look over his shoulder, Louis was entirely engrossed in whatever it was he was doing on his laptop.

“Sir,” said Harry, feeling inexplicably like the ground had crumbled from beneath him. Louis glanced up, his eyes narrowed.

“Harry.” Louis sounded imperious, but he’d returned to his laptop and was now clicking around. For a moment Harry thought Louis would scold him for not doing as he was told, but instead he just sighed.

He sounded vaguely irritated. Very irritated, if Harry really thought about it through the pound of blood in his ears. Like Harry’s interruption was a minor nuisance, but not something he’d bother getting genuinely upset about.

Somehow, Harry would have rather had a punishment. But then he thought about how incredible it was that Louis knew exactly how to get under his skin, and it made him warm. And anyway, if he really didn’t want to play this game anymore, he just had to say the word. After a few heartbeats, Harry decided he liked it, in a backwards sort of way.

“What do you want?” Louis asked after a long, testing silence.

Presented with such an outright question, Harry was a little taken aback. The whole point was that he didn’t—he couldn’t just ask for what he wanted. He didn’t get to decide. It was all in Louis’s hands. He was quiet for so long that Louis prompted, brow raised: “Well?”

“I… I don’t—” Harry stammered. “Nothing.”

“So you’re being bad for no reason?”

This, Harry was familiar with, but he still felt a little out of his depth. “No,” he said. Whispered, really. “I want you.”

Louis laughed. “Of course you do,” he said.

“Please, Sir,” Harry said. When Louis didn’t respond, Harry raised his voice. “Please?”

“Why’re you asking for my permission, Harry?” Louis asked. There was something steely underlying his mocking tone. “You already decided you didn’t want to listen. Already spoke out of turn. You’ve been fucking annoying for the last half an hour. And now you want to follow the rules?”

“Sir,” Harry whined. “I’m sorry, Sir. I—I didn’t mean to…”

“Yes, you did. You’re a terrible liar,” Louis laughed.

Never had Harry wanted so desperately to be good; he was still holding his hands behind his back, still watching Louis over his shoulder, pleading wordlessly. He just wanted Louis to be happy with him, and he found his throat tightening.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said. He was so fucking hard.

“No, baby,” Louis said, and Harry whined, low and pathetic and a little wounded, at being denied the chance to be good. After finally setting his laptop aside, Louis continued, “I think you’ll do whatever you want. And that’s all right. I’ve spoiled you—I’ll have to do better, I guess.”

Crestfallen, with something twisting and ugly in his chest, Harry broke from his position and clambered up in between Louis’s legs, choking on his need to… to just—he didn’t know what, exactly, only that it was somehow more upsetting that Louis thought it was his fault that Harry couldn’t listen. There must have been something concerning in one of those half-sentences he managed to trip over, or maybe it was just that he was suddenly on the verge of tears, because Louis leaned forward briefly, touched the corner of Harry’s mouth, and murmured, “Can you prove me wrong?”

He was checking in. “Yeah,” Harry said, wide-eyed. “I mean, yes, yes, Sir, I can, I promise, I’m okay, I’m green, I can.”

Seemingly satisfied, Louis sat back again, and Harry, feeling very much unanchored, rose up on his knees. When Louis pulled his phone out instead of responding, Harry whimpered and stood, gritting his teeth against the way his joints creaked as he climbed into Louis’s lap.

“What are you doing?” Louis asked. He sounded bored again, even as Harry sank his weight against him.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, because he didn’t, and Louis was supposed to tell him what to do, but he wasn’t. He lifted his hands to smooth over Louis’s bare shoulders, then slid them to his biceps, then decided not to touch him at all. He’d never realized exactly how much he relied on Louis’s constant feedback when they did this until just now, which was sort of ridiculous.

For a few minutes, they sat like that. Harry felt his heart settle eventually and went back to putting his hands on Louis’s skin, tracing his tattoos, the hollow of his throat. Louis’s Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes flickered briefly, but that was it. He seemed to be texting someone.

That, too—the idea of Louis carrying a conversation while Harry was bare and grinding all over his lap—made heat pool in Harry’s veins.

“Can I, um, can I have your cock?” Harry asked, reaching in between their bodies to cup the shape of it where it was tenting the front of Louis’s joggers.

Harry was, of course, shameless, and after this long, rarely tentative or shy about the things he wanted. It was Louis’s favorite thing to call him, usually: shameless, filthy boy, little slut, you want it so bad, don’t you? Always need it—

But just then, as Louis’s eyes alighted upon him, then slid to his panting mouth, then to his hand where it flexed over his bulge, Harry felt the first slivers of shame needle right through his gut. And it was good, to be a little embarrassed. He needed that, sometimes, and his cheeks heated, and so did the tips of his ears—and Louis’s mouth tipped into that sharply-angled, restrained smirk. It was the equivalent of something fond, this far in. He shrugged, shifted his phone into just one hand, and, once Harry pushed up to give him room, used the other to shove his joggers and briefs down just enough to free his cock.

“If that’s what you want,” he said. That was all Harry wanted, so he grinned dopily, stretched over to grab the lube from the end table where Louis had left it earlier. On instinct, or so it seemed, Louis steadied him with a hand on his side, his thumb curving into a divot between Harry’s ribs, a familiar touch that he pulled away only once Harry was resettled.

“I need the plug out,” Harry murmured. Louis’s brow rose.

“So take it out,” he said.

Harry did, once again having to ignore the stifling knot of mortification in his chest—he felt clumsy, so unbelievably new to a role he’d been playing for years, and that just wouldn’t do. If Louis noticed Harry’s discomfort, he didn’t show it. Or seem to care, for that matter. He did set his phone aside with a sigh once Harry had worked the buttplug out of his body, leaning back as Harry gripped his cock to guide it inside, his nostrils flaring when Harry groaned and scrambled to anchor himself on his shoulders.

It seemed like an eternity before Harry’d taken him completely. He sat for a moment, enthralled by the fill, his teeth trapping the inside of his lip, a deep, concentrated furrow in his brow. Louis said nothing. Now that Harry had gone still, he looked entirely unaffected—regarding Harry coolly when Harry whined and pawed at him, not even offering him another glancing touch, not petting at his hair and the valley of his spine and calling him his good, dirty boy.

“Sir,” Harry pleaded, finally gathering himself up and rocking back and forth. He lifted, hissed at the tight drag, and that was enough to have him building up into a rhythm—slow, but deep and steady nonetheless, his thighs splaying wide. Louis grunted, a rough noise that sounded as though it’d been torn out of him.

There was a particular satisfaction in hearing it. Harry huffed out a determined breath, pressed his nails into Louis’s shoulders, pounded himself down hard enough that his legs began to quiver, dropping his face into the warm, sweaty curve of Louis’s neck and mouthing at it urgently to keep himself from crying out—except he did, anyway, unsticking his teeth from Louis’s skin when he angled himself just right and gasping, “Lou, fucking hell,” in a voice that was so desperate it was very nearly pained, pitched high.

He swept his tongue up to Louis’s jaw and sucked there, right at the hinge, a spot Louis loved on him, and when his muscles burned too much for him to keep going—here was where Louis would, in a perfect world, grab him by the hips, hold him fast, and drive into him until he was wailing, fucked blind—he had to slow, his building orgasm simmering down into a low, throbbing, frustrating heat.

“Is it hard?” Louis asked, and Harry reveled in his strained undertone. “Hard to get off without me, hm? Spoiled thing, you are.” There was that again. Spoiled. Like a term of endearment, although Louis was mocking him. Harry hummed, muffled because he was still affixed to the scruffy cut of Louis’s jaw, but managed to find his second wind, circling his hips, letting out an almighty groan.

“Yes,” Harry replied belatedly—hazily. And Louis laughed. It was the best thing. Harry bucked helplessly, writhing all over Louis’s cock, chanted, “Please, please, please, I need it, Sir, please—” because, despite disobeying, despite disappointing Louis sometimes, he was a good boy, and good boys begged. “Please, make me come, I can’t—I need you, oh, fuck—”

Eventually he became incoherent with it, realized he was choking on his own needy cries. He didn’t know how long it had been, but he was exhausted, and trembling, and maybe on a different day Louis would have dragged it out, on an even meaner day than today, but for now Louis reached around to squeeze his ass cheek and wrapped his fingers around Harry’s cock, giving him a long stroke, his fist closing tight over the angry-red tip.

“Oh, love,” he soothed as Harry cried out and lurched into him, working down in hungry, uncoordinated movements. It only took a minute for Harry to come once he had Louis meeting him halfway; white-hot, it scorched through him, had him keeling over into Louis’s hold, his hole clenched tight on Louis’s cock. He made a mess of himself, spilling in warm pulses over Louis’s fist and sobbing all the while, and Louis whispered to him, although he couldn’t quite make out the words through the all-encompassing blood rush in his ears.

On the comedown he began to smile—like a good boy who’d just gotten everything he wanted. Louis was still pumping his softening, slick cock, and it hurt, but he pushed into it anyway, entranced by the shift of Louis’s fingers around him.

“I thought you were ignoring me,” Harry said, simpering. Louis snorted and slapped him so hard he whimpered again.

“I was,” Louis said. He still hadn’t come, Harry realized, but that was okay—if there was one thing Harry had, thus far, never disappointed at, it was making Louis feel good. So he grinned, pushed his fingers up into Louis’s hair, and interrupted him with a kiss. It was only once he broke away to press his mouth to Louis’s chin that Louis continued, “But everyone knows I’ll always give you everything you want in the end, anyway.” 


End file.
